


Narcisse

by cornflakes_canvas



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Dreams, Fluff, Future, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Non-Explicit, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."





	Narcisse

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've attempted to write something mildly sensual and I feel hella nervous about it.  
> Inspired by nature, Greek mythology and horrific floral curtains.  
> Comments would make me very happy (tell me if I screwed up, please) & thank you so much for reading! ♥♥

_2.37 a.m. Brush your teeth. Get undressed. Shut the kitchen window and switch off the living room lamp. Set your alarm for ten o'clock, the coffee machine for ten fifteen._

Same routine, same empty flat. Another lonely day, his footsteps echoing off the bare walls, haunting him; yet another _Meals For One_ lunch and one more night of lying on the left side of the big bed, the white pillows on his right perfect and undisturbed.

Dan threw back the duvet and slipped under the covers, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he placed the electrodes on his bare chest and turned on the small device that started up with a faint, muffled whirr, waiting patiently for him to fall asleep.

He glanced at his phone one last time and sent off a quick _goodnight xx_.

 

Then he closed his eyes, tried to blank out the noise bubbling in through the half-open window and breathed deeply as he slowly, slowly felt his consciousness slip away and soar into the night, towards the sky, the moon, the stars; towards the still, English gardens and into the grandeur of vast, splendid halls burdened with hushed desires.

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

Being in his mid-twenties, Dan increasingly passed his time reminiscing about how he had pictured the future when he was a child, his imagination overrun with flying cars, all-round robots and interactive TV shows. What he got instead were hardship and collapse, corrupt politicians and a power-hungry Queen who gazed upon an erstwhile vibrant and culture-craving city so clouded in smog she could barely make out the end of the road. The cream-coloured St Paul's Cathedral, the opulent flagship, now seemed dirty and dull, the London Eye closed for renovation and never re-opened. Formerly free museums had long-since begun charging obscene admission fees for what used to be generally accessible culture and was now available only to the smallest circle of rich men and women, and Westminster Abbey, towering high into the sky like a sinister watchtower, had been sold by the insolvent church to a cunning businessman who had turned it into the most myth-enshrouded, extensive and extravagant _house of pleasure_ the capital had ever seen.

Over the course of two drawn-out years and lacking the funds to buy into the front row, Dan had gradually made his way up a seemingly infinite waiting list until he finally received the richly ornamented letter that invited him to his own private arrangement at the club _Narcisse_. No further information, just a number of guidelines.

 

Dan was breathless with excitement when he took the everlasting tube to Westminster Station, feeling jumpy and guilt-ridden. The few friends he surrounded himself with these days spoke disparagingly of the scandalous place and its rising influence on their hometown, and with unbridled repulsion of those who sought pleasure in its stony confines – needless to say, Dan had not shared his imminent plans. But he needed something worthwhile in his life, something more than the vicious cycle of depressingly repetitive motions that his body worked through each and every day, a litany of failures driven by alcohol and cigarettes, mediocre sex and nights of smoke and horror, drunk on visions that presaged the impending monotony of a joyless future.

And despite spending a small fortune on the risqué and frowned upon adventure, Dan was convinced that the prize was worth his sacrifice, if only for the opportunity to see, to _feel_ the cold walls which he had marvelled at when he was much younger and visiting Westminster Abbey with his parents, his big, innocent eyes clinging tightly to the exquisite stained-glass windows.

 

Dan had set out rather early and in great haste after nearly suffering a meltdown over his choice of clothing (seeing as, if the rumours were to be believed, the _people of the house_ were exclusively celestial beings, a notion that likely bordered on blasphemy) which ended up being composed of his typical, lazy combination of jeans and a black shirt. He had been scrutinised, searched and judged at the entrance, the gaunt, _leering_ guard checking his pass and guest list entry over and over until Dan was flustered beyond control. But his name was _right there_ , lettered in gold, and they finally allowed him to find his way into the candlelit labyrinth of corridors that greeted him with delightful twilight and musky incense.

His eyes soon found a glimmer in the dark, a glow that promised a safe haven, a place of refuge, and as he stumbled into the light, Dan was blinded by a sight to behold – the room was overflowing, bursting with hundreds, _thousands_ of the dewiest, most fragrant and colourful flowers known to humankind: lotuses, lilacs, lilies. Orchids and hyacinths, dahlias and camellias, bleeding hearts, roses and carnations. The air exploded with their thick, sweet scent, from the ceilings that faded into a starry blackness to the polished marble floors which swirled beneath Dan's boots and made his head swim. Every inch of stone was smothered with nature herself and a tender rain of spring blossom floated down from above and covered the tiles like a delicate snow blanket.

Dan felt as if he was staggering through a fog that swirled around him and filled up his aching lungs, leaving him craving for _more_. It was what this place was about after all, and they were doing a phenomenal job selling it – _lust._ The reason why Dan was here, why _everyone_ was here.

The monumental, softly illuminated nave had been furnished with antique _chaises longues_ , ornate benches and gilt settees with violet cushions; dazzling chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, divine rays of sunshine filtered through brilliant glass and cast speckles of tinted light on the pale marble floor, and lush pomegranate trees adorned every nook and cranny.

But the wide parade of luxury dulled in comparison to the dozens of ethereal _escorts_ who promenaded gracefully around the room, clad in impeccably tailored, pastel-coloured suits – pearls of rare beauty in all their traditional and unconventional facets, their tender poise counterbalancing the eruption of brilliance which poured out of the bloom that embellished the walls.

Dan was eyed suspiciously, _sized up_ and stared at by hosts and guests alike – unquestionably a by-product of the social status he was obviously lacking as evidenced by his hesitation, his humble nature, his attire –, was regarded with much less curiosity than other, clearly more affluent and possibly regular visitors, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to make himself look as small as possible.

A young, almost mystically handsome redhead breezed along, followed by a cloud of pleasant perfume, and passed Dan a cool champagne flute, flashed him an encouraging smile and a wink and sauntered off again, leaving the nervous man feeling dazed and exposed – he had hoped that his own pursuit of passion would be a lot more concealed from that of the other clients but alas, enchanted lovers were lounging on every available _divan_ , mostly dressed in chic and pricey clothes and sipping sparkling wine as they chatted animatedly; the secret corners of the large room were crowded with suitors kissing the recipients of their adoration, stunned smiles playing on their swollen lips.

Dan suddenly felt ill. Coming here had been a dreadful idea and he regretted his emotionally laden decision to squander years of savings on something as trivial as sex, no matter how much he missed the tender embrace of another man.

 

He stared at the glossy floor and hunched his shoulders, acting like the pathetic puddle at the bottom of his crystal glass was the single most fascinating sight (when the pompous room was, in truth, _stuffed_ with temptation), until a hushed murmur, a breeze of whispers, ran through the crowd, drifted through the dizzying haze and echoed in Dan's ears like a chilling rain. He looked up instinctively and his eyes fell upon the cathedral's boasting portal and the tall stranger who walked through it with utter grace.

The man merely stood and observed, eyes as dark as the night scanning the crowd intently, his lean body swathed in a three-piece suit that fit him like a second skin, its soft lilac shade complementing his deliciously sun-kissed complexion. His handsome face was darkened considerably, _intriguingly_ , by a meticulously groomed beard and moustache and he was wearing countless silver rings on his slender fingers, his thumbs hooked casually into the pockets of his waistcoat. Dan swallowed harshly and cursed the lone bead of sweat that crept slowly down his temple, his breath hitching when the beautiful man locked eyes with him and seemed to stare right into his soul, a knowing hint ghosting across his features. Dan felt bare in front of him, defenceless.

_Narcissus_ , he thought, the proud hunter, known for his beauty. Legend had it that he drove his devotees to take their own lives in a senseless effort to prove their loyalty – until Narcissus himself fell in love with his reflection and, shattered by the unrequited nature of his deep affection, ended his life, leaving behind but a single florid narcissus.

The inspirational source for the naming of _Narcisse_ was undeniable.

 

The stranger moved towards him with elegant steps, his bare feet making no sound as they touched the petal-strewn marble, and paused right in front of Dan, who could do nothing but gaze up at him, lost for words and mouth agape as the man continued regarding him soberly. Then his manner changed slightly and he grasped Dan's hand in his own, his touch feather-light when he bowed down to press his lips against the cold, clammy skin. He lingered for a while and Dan was becoming uncomfortably aware of the inquisitive glances that were thrown their way when the escort peered up at him through his ink-black lashes and smirked teasingly. The fanciful scenery appeared to grind to a halt around them; the cascade of petals tumbled down unnaturally slowly, the man's jewellery gleamed and glistened in the flying sparks that bounced off every translucent crystal, the hollow of his throat pulsated softly as he crowded Dan against the cold wall, framed his face in his warm hands and fit their bodies together like two parts of one enigma, all the while watching the blue-eyed man thoughtfully. He raised one perfect eyebrow and Dan blinked frenziedly.

“W-what's your name?”

 

The other smirked again. “What would you like it to be?”

 

His voice was deep and warm and made Dan shiver to the bone. He didn't hesitate even a fraction of a second.

“Kyle.”

 

Kyle chuckled quietly and ran his hands down Dan's arms, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. “It's nice to meet you ... _Dan_.”

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

_Cold._

_Walking, walking._

They strode in silence through corridors that demonstrated intricate sculpture and tracery so filigree it seemed unfathomable that the architecture was supposedly man-made, the narrow passageway illuminated by candles throwing their flickering light upon the unrelenting stone masses, the broken features of long-forgotten saints and lacklustre gold relics, fabricating a disorienting image on the flawless marble. Dan blinked away the deceptive glimmer and crossed his arms over his chest. As irrelevant a thought as _I should've brought a jacket_ flashed through his anxious mind and he clenched his jaw.

Kyle had not uttered a single word since he had led him away from the prying eyes of the main hall, holding his hand and swiping a caressing thumb over his knuckles. The air felt heavy with implied promises, nervous and charged with anticipating tension, and Dan wondered whether he was getting the silent treatment because he had perturbed the order or broken some unspoken rule.

 

The taller man stopped in front of a plain white entrance and, without so much as a glance at Dan, pressed down the gold handle, swiftly and confidently. He entered the room and his companion followed close behind and let his gaze wander around to drink in the harmonious pink and mint green hues, the sweet, springlike adornments, the periwinkle blue louvre doors leading to what Dan assumed was an en-suite bathroom and the silver candelabras lighting the damask wallpaper and reflecting off the polished surface of every richly ornamented mirror. Dan's boots sunk into the plush, cream-coloured carpet and he could not help eyeing the impressive double bed that stood to their left, inviting them with silk sheets and embroidered cushions. It was a perfect picture of pastel lavishness.

As the young man inspected the brocade curtains, Kyle turned to face him and their eyes met once more, conjuring up a storm of questions and emotional turmoil. Kyle smiled and gestured around the room.

“What you imagined?”

 

Dan attempted a timid smile. “It's ... pretty.”

 

Kyle nodded knowingly and fixed Dan with a deep stare, then shrugged off his jacket in one fluid motion and tossed it aside carelessly. The fine fabric landed in a shameful heap on the floor and the handsome man grinned.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? All this expensive shit?”

 

Dan stared at Kyle, stared at his mouth. “I- I don't know, maybe.” He fidgeted with the gold band on his ring finger. “Does it make _you_ uncomfortable?”

 

Kyle smirked and stepped closer, their faces only inches apart as he removed his cufflinks and dropped them on the carpet.

“Not as long as I'm getting paid,” he whispered and leaned forward to nuzzle Dan's cheek, his lips grazing the shell of the older man's ear and his hot breath sending dangerous shivers down his spine.

Then Kyle stepped back and slowly, _ever so slowly_ , unbuttoned his waistcoat. Another article of pricey clothing landed on the floor without a sound, revealing a crisp white shirt that hugged the young man's slim frame tightly. It was thin, almost gauzy, and Dan could make out Kyle's warm skin tone through the flimsy fabric, could see the outline of his collarbone and a hint of muscles. His mouth went dry.

 

“Here,” Kyle said softly, turning to a small side table and pouring Dan a glass of champagne, “drink this.”

Dan accepted the alcohol with trembling fingers, gulping it down too quickly and gasping as a few stray droplets of the sparkling liquid ran down his stubbled chin. Kyle reached out his hand, caught them with his thumb and led them back to Dan's waiting lips, rubbing them into the sensitive skin like a soothing balm.

Dan closed his eyes and sighed deeply, feeling hot, _dazed_. He could see starry swirls dance before his eyes, and when he blinked himself back to the present, Kyle was taking off his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders and letting it glide down his arms until it caught around his elbows – Dan almost felt the slide of the delicate fabric on his own searing skin.

Slowly running a hand down his bare chest and over his flat stomach, Kyle blinked coyly at him, acting shy. When Dan gaped at him, he grinned teasingly and shook his head.

“No,” he said in a low, husky voice, closed the distance between them and rested a hand on the back of Dan's neck, tilting his head cockily as he massaged the warm skin beneath his fingertips.

“You like to be taken care of,” he breathed and sunk his fingers into Dan's dark hair, tugging at the soft strands until the shorter man let his head loll back with a quiet moan and allowed Kyle to drag his lips along his throat, biting down lightly. A surprised whimper escaped Dan and he gripped the other's biceps tightly as Kyle chuckled against his neck, the vibration sending an anticipating tremor through his body.

“Patience was never my strong suit,” the younger man stated matter-of-factly and finally, their mouths fell together in a messy kiss. No slow buildup this time, no taunting, just hungry breaths and eager hands, hot skin and confused tongues.

 

Kyle ended the kiss far too quickly for Dan's liking and he knit his brows with dissatisfaction as he watched Kyle shrug off his shirt while sauntering backward towards the tempting bed, smiling a tantalising, lopsided smile.

“Don't make me wait, _Sir_.”

 

Dan stumbled after him blindly, nearly tripped over the edge of the thick carpet and paused in front of Kyle, unsure of what to do next until the tall man rolled his eyes good-naturedly, pulled the nervous man down to sit comfortably on the bouncy mattress and kneeled in front of him.

“It's not gonna hurt,” he teased and rubbed his palms over the other's tense thighs before reaching down and propping Dan's dirty boot on his bent knee. The sole left a dusty print on the lilac fabric and Dan blushed.

Kyle's fingers were swift and persistent as he gave the stiff laces a hearty tug, untying them slowly until he could slip off one shoe and move on to the next, all the while smiling to himself as if doing this was all he ever wanted out of life. He flung Dan's boots behind him with a loud bang and grinned once again as he bent Dan's knee up and gently slipped his fingers inside his trouser leg, finding the soft hem of his sock and pulling it down slowly.

Having discarded the useless articles of clothing, Kyle reached up, pulled off Dan's time-worn leather belt and undid the scratched silver button on his jeans. The older man held his breath when Kyle removed his trousers in one swift, desperate movement, wasting no time before he moved on to the stubborn buttons of Dan's plain black shirt.

He could not have confidently determined how much time passed while the handsome man undressed him calmly, tracing his inner thighs with touches so tender they could well have been a figment of Dan's overstrung imagination, drawing tiny, meaningful patterns on the soft skin of his stomach and pressing his mouth to the hollow of his sternum. Dan was enraptured, caught in a sensual frenzy. Slow and steady, there was no rush. They had hours to just _be_. Together.

It wasn't long before they had stripped entirely, their bare bodies contrasting beautifully in so many ways and harmonising heavenly in many more.

Dan inhaled greedily as Kyle sat back and touched himself lightly, teasingly, sweat pearling on his brow and glueing strands of dark hair to his forehead. He leaned over Dan again, kissed him tenderly as he slung an arm around his middle and scooped him up to lower him onto the silky cushions. He smiled, ghosted his fingers over Dan's shoulders and trailed them down his chest, and as his hand dipped lower, Dan gasped and flung out his arm to clutch at the tangled sheets, but his fingers grasped nothing but tender pink and yellow petals. He raised his eyes and saw them spilling from the ceiling, tumbling in their own carefree fashion and settling on the lustrous silk.

 

Kyle moved his hands to Dan's clear-cut hip bones and their eyes met as waves of sensuality washed over Dan when the taller man lowered himself onto his lover, their bodies sliding together effortlessly as if they had lain together exactly like this a hundred times before.

Dan felt rather anxious about _intimacy without history_ , about being touched by somebody who didn't know him, but the way they moved together, skin on skin, was familiar and thrilling at once – a much longed-for relief from the tempting ache that Dan had felt deep inside him from the moment he laid eyes on Kyle.

The older man tilted his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to slow down his breathing. He felt unbroken, _complete_ , was strengthened and weakened by lust, sighing as he sensed Kyle's muscles tense and shift beneath his fingertips and felt their perfectly compatible bodies merge – bronze on pale skin like a splash of honey on milk, sweet and smooth; raw power and deep, aching numbness that surfaced ever so slowly and erupted like a stream of lava. Every breath felt like inhaling underwater, agonising and harsh, each gasp an uncontrolled display of genuine emotion, every kiss was an act of fulfilment.

Dan was overwhelmed, _ecstatic_ , did not dare open his eyes and couldn't stop uttering those three words like a mantra. He was drowning in an endless fever dream.

 

Kyle grasped Dan's chin and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I'm right here, my love,” he murmured and Dan blinked his eyes open, reluctantly.

 

“You're not,” he whispered back and his chest felt tight.

 

Kyle nestled his face in the crook of Dan's neck and hugged him tightly.

“I'm sorry,” he answered. “I will be.”

 

 

 

_/ /_

 

 

 

Waking up the morning after was and always would be _an experience_.

With Kyle travelling as much as he did and being away on business for weeks at a time, the investment certainly paid off, but no matter how many times the two men spent their dreams together, Dan would never get used to the abrupt awakening, the shortness of breath and confusion about finding himself at home, _in bed_ instead of some outlandish, fantastic scenario. But worse than the initial disorientation was the sadness that set in when he came to realise that he was _alone_ , missing his other half.

 

It had been a feverish night, filled with confessions of lust, hurt and affection as they made love until the early hours of the morning and fell asleep in each other's arms, watching as the sun's first rays began to creep across the floor and touched the dewy petals that were scattered around the room. Specks of light reflected off a hundred crystals and danced on Kyle's face as he dozed off first, his head tucked under Dan's chin and breathing peacefully.

The insistent beeping of his alarm clock had yanked Dan back into reality, the wishful scene crumbling into dust as he came to with a groan and felt for the cold sheets on his right, his trembling fingers finding nothing but Kyle's neatly folded pyjamas.

It was ten o'clock, meaning it was four a.m. in Chicago, Illinois where Kyle had been staying for the past week, and if his schedule hadn't changed, he would wake up in about two hours.

A hundred and twenty minutes until Dan would hear his voice.

 

The fantastic setup had cost them half their life savings, but they had not once regretted their decision in the nine months since they had started using the _Dream Catcher_ , a stimulation device that allowed them the luxury to make up for every waking moment they _didn't_ get to spend in each other's company, even when there were thousands of miles between them, and while both of them consciously spoke and acted throughout the dreams, they took turns composing the general scenario depending on their needs to prevent a dizzying genre mashup – and to keep up the excitement.

It wasn't always a straightforward endeavour, seeing as the time difference often meant that Dan had to hold off on sleep whereas Kyle was forced to go to bed a lot earlier than he normally would – but anything to be together. Anything at all.

 

Dan got out of bed and removed the discreet electrodes, brushing a finger over one of the red patches left on his pale skin and stretching contentedly as he revelled in the hot satisfaction that coursed through his pleasantly exhausted body.

He ambled into the kitchen in his underwear, pulled up the soft grey linen blinds and fed the cat that kept rubbing against his leg until he caved. The ever-reliable coffee machine had already brewed the perfect, frothy cappuccino and Dan held the steaming cup with both hands and inhaled the delicious fragrance, taking tentative sips until the hot drink had cooled considerably.

There was plenty of time for him to shower, down two more cups of coffee, order lunch and get quite a bit of work done before his phone finally rang. A notification on his lockscreen (a slightly embarrassing snapshot of a beaming Kyle hugging him tightly) informed Dan that it was now ten past six in Chicago. He quickly answered the call, a bright smile on his face as he petted the cat that had made herself comfortable on his lap.

“Hello?”

 

“Fucking _Westminster Abbey_ , Dan? Seriously?”

 

He could hear the incredulity in Kyle's sleepy voice and sniggered.

“I'm sorry, I couldn't resist the temptation.”

 

“You're truly godless. And I'm starting to get worried. Why do most of your sexual fantasies seem to revolve around some sort of dystopian vision?”

 

Dan laughed and leaned back in his chair, looking out of the kitchen window and upon the vast city that seemed to reach for the horizon. It was a clear day and a small, faraway aircraft was drawing a long, white line across the cloudless sky.

“Honey, I'm being _resourceful_. And it was kind of romantic, right? The flowers and all that.”

 

Kyle kept silent for a moment. “I mean ... yeah. It was incredible.”

 

Dan grinned to himself. Eight years together and Kyle still made him feel incoherent with joy.

“You were really hot.”

 

“You _made me_ really hot.”

 

Dan shook his head. “You _are_ that hot, Kyle. If you just wore a suit from time t-”

 

“We can talk about your suit kink another time, I need to get ready for my meeting.”

 

A wistful smile flashed across Dan's face. “Good luck, babe.”

 

He could hear a soft rustling sound, then a weary sigh.

“Just one more day. One more night. Then all those dreams will come true.”

 

Dan blushed and swallowed. “Shall I ring Westminster Abbey, ask if they've got rooms to let?”

 

A delightful laugh escaped Kyle. “Our bed is good enough for me.”

 

The older man tried to stay cheerful as the lovers said their goodbyes, arranging to meet – virtually – at the usual time that night. Dan couldn't wait to hold Kyle in his arms again.

_One more night._

He sighed deeply and watched the plane's faint white painting slowly fade into the bright blue sky. His eyes fell upon his computer screen and the detailed article on the restoration of St Paul's Cathedral that he was working on. A colourful advert for the newly opened flower shop down the road popped up in the bottom right corner and the young man smiled to himself as he ruffled the purring feline's thick black fur.

 

First thing tomorrow morning and before his husband returned to him, Dan decided, he would go out and buy a bouquet of yellow and white narcissi so beautiful, lush and fragrant it would put the floral splendour of _Narcisse_ to shame.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected." -- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist


End file.
